


Fire and Spit: An Oseram Tale

by Rorys_Ramblings



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Oseram Tribe, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Red Raids, Scars, Shadow Carja, Slavery, Teamwork, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rorys_Ramblings/pseuds/Rorys_Ramblings
Summary: Agda Ealdordaughter is as Oseram as they come, except that she’s a girl. With an interest in delving into the Old World Ruins and building new weaponry, the last thing Agda wants is to be married off to a powerful Ealdorson in Mainspring for the strong political ties it will offer her Ealdorman father. With the Carja pushing further into the Claim and the Red Raids in full swing, she may just get her wish of becoming more than her tribe will allow, in a way she never would have hoped for. The derangement of man may truly be worse than that of the machines.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. The Cost of Enduring

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I’m Rory and I’ve decided to start writing fanfic to help me get out of writing slumps for my other projects. I should be posting a chapter a week, and I hope you like my content! Let me know in the comments! I’m so excited to be here!

Think _warm thoughts, Agda. Think of the Jewel._

I’ve never seem the Jewel before, but I’ve read about it in scrolls. A lush tropical forest surrounded with wildlife thriving in the Carja’s beaming sun. To the north, the mesas and the arid desert air. Supposedly the rain falls hot there and the lakes are warm enough for swimming, if you watch out for Snapmaws and Stalkers.

Of course, I’d never see it myself, what with the Derangement of the Machines. New nasties were popping out from Cauldrons all across the mapped world faster than they could be slayed. That’s not even to mention Sun King Jiran’s Red Raids. Any relations between the Carja and the Oseram were dead now. My tribe is fiercely proud of it’s Claim, but it seems rather bleak to me, frozen over and deforested as it is, with smog pulling the blue out of the skies. Our craftsmanship in kinder times helped build the marvels of the Carja’s Meridian. Somehow it feels like we got the bung end of the that deal.

I push through an outcropping of red reeds as I follow the freezing creek near Hammer Hill down. Snow and sleet blows through my hair and sticks to my face with my bandanna doing little to warm me. My borrowed plate mail is a weight I’m not altogether used to, but beats a leather forge apron against the rake of a machine’s claws should I encounter any. I’m not allowed to learn warcraft in Hammer Hill. It’s work for the menfolk. I’d be hard pressed to find any community within the Claim that would allow a woman to take up arms. It makes the war hammer pressing against my back feel all the better. The Nora far to the east may live as savages, but as an Oseram woman, I envy the power of their War Maidens.

I steer to the south a little of the river and trudge through the lesser traversed snow. The entrance should be nearby. After scaring away a skittish heard of Grazers I spot the door. It was made of steel and mostly closed with the exception of a small gap. That’d be enough to force it open. I approach and grab my hammer from my back to bust through a thin layer of ice before pressing my back to the crack and grunting as I force it to slide apart on an old, stiff track.

“Well _hello._ ” I say as I slink inside, giving a light tug to my mail to force it through the opening.

I was in a cavern with a high ceiling, full of the flickering lights of the Old One’s lanterns, making up the shapes of their ancient glyphs. Stalactites and stalagmites have forced their way up through the metal tables and furnishings, giving me something to climb over as I work my way to the center of the room. There was large pit that had collected ice with a railing surrounding it. A lantern light shines up from the center spelling out old glyphs. I’ve learned a little of their script from my delves. I squint at it through the dark.

”Operation Enduring Victory.” I sound out. Peculiar, considering that the Old Ones did not, in fact, endure very well.

I spot a small pedestal along the rail and press my hand to it, familiar with how this technology works. If it’s still operational, it should start a light show.

_”Welcome enlistees to Operation Enduring Victory! In the wake of an international crisis, you are now a symbol of hope! When the Faro Plague knocks on our door, they’ll see what Enduring Victory has in store! New recruits, please make your way to the check in-“_

”Gah!“ I give the machine a light kick, knowing full well that it won’t help, as the images of Metal Devils being shot down peter out of view. The light show was old and corrupted. Did they really fight Metal Devils? What was Enduring Victory? A tribe?

I sigh and shift my view around the room. There was only one way forward. I skirt around the light show ring and vault a metal counter as I approach the door. It was sealed, but I’ve seen these work before. I hold my hand, palm extended in front of it, and then turn it to the right. The doors slide apart at my command. That was always fun to do.

Some of the other tribes suspect magic, and I’m pretty sure the Nora are afraid of the Old Ones, but we Oseram know better. The world of the Old Ones was a technological marvel. I wish I could unravel how to all worked.

The room behind the doors is spacious and filled with metal pedestals displaying what I assume is weaponry. I wind through the maze in awe.

”They look like...rattlers?”

There was something unique about them though. They were connected to small power cells. The internal workings were all unique. Only the shell resembled the tribal weapon. I can feel the twitch in my fingers as I long to take them apart.

What kind of unknown materials power you up? What do you _do_?

It looks like some kind of electromagnetic force protected it from wandering hands in the past, but no longer. I reach forward and allow my fingers to curl around the grip.

”Agda!” Shouts a voice in the distance, causing me to momentarily freeze up as stiff as a fallen hunter in a Watcher den.

I curse under my breath. “Fire and spit!”

I still had time, if I hurried. They had a ways to go. I hustle to throw the weaponry into my bag. It wasn’t the safest idea. Who knew if they were still operational? Jostling could cause a misfire. Theoretically I know this, but I couldn’t live with myself if I left these masterpieces behind. I sweep around the room until my sack is as heavy as I realistically can allow it to be, and then I make my way back to the first room, leaving the rest of the ruin regretfully unexplored.

The exterior doors are shoved aside as I cross the threshold from the arms display room. I cringe as I see who it is.

”Agda Ealdordaughter!” The Oseram soldier scolds me, arms crossed. My father had clearly sent him. I was in trouble.

* * *

”-and time and time again we keep having this conversation! What will it take to drill it into your head, girl!”

I take a deep breath and blink the tears from my eyes.

”It’s not a conversation though, father. It never has been! It’s you telling me things and refusing to listen to me!”

”You are my _daughter_! And I am your Ealdorman! You owe me your respect!” He snaps back.

”You haven’t earned it!” I shout. His palm quickly collides with my face and I hit the ground.

I don’t get up. It’s not very Oseram of me, but I’m tired. I am so very tired. Tired of the long winding wooden staircase that holds me captive in my thoughts as I traverse it each day that leads inevitably to this room. Tired of the blazing hearth and the handsome wooden furnishings draped in furs that observe my misery. Tired of the man who summons me here. Denies me the life he has and decides my fate against his open palm, or clenched fist.

He offers me a hand up, but I refuse it and push myself to my knees on my own.

“The Carja are getting closer. I’ll move you out of Hammer Hill soon for your safety. Then we won’t have to worry about these delves and this constant urge you have to put yourself in danger and behave... _dastardly_ _.”_

His tone is softer, but his words are still poisonous to my ears. I don’t look at him. I won’t. There’s nothing I can say, after all. Moving was merely a kind way of putting it. What he means is marrying. Marrying off to some other Ealdorman’s son for political gain deeper in the Claim, and further into my prison, with the noose around me growing so tight I couldn’t possibly see the sun through the smog.

I start to pull myself to my feet and reach for my delve bag, but he snatches it from me.

”You don’t need anything in here.” He attempts to remind me, matter of factly as he lifts it from the floor. My eyes widen with hurt.

”Father! The Carja are near! You said so yourself! We could use what I found to fortify our defenses! We could-”

”Hush yourself, girl!” He silences me with a raised hand that I push back from instinctively.

”Steel to my soul, you are an impossible child.” He groans. “I’ll leave it with Dervahl, but it doesn’t concern _you._ ” He emphasizes with pointed finger. I shove past him so he doesn’t see the tremble in my lip.

”I didn’t dismiss you, girl!” He shouts after me, but I slam the thick iron door on him and take the stairs down two at a time. He has nothing more to say that I wish to hear today.

* * *

I sit next to the mill and watch the gears powering the forge turn and groan. An Oseram town must run as smoothly as it’s forge. Each part has a function as does each member of the town. A broken or rusty cog can make the whole forge fall to bits if left unchecked. It adds additional strain to the other components. An Oseram who doesn’t know her place is a danger to Oseram safety and society. Cook the meals and do the wash and service the forge and help with the brewing. Marry who your family selects, and you are a good Oseram woman. A properly working cog in the Oseram machine.

I guess I’m not a very good Oseram woman.

“Alright, lets take a look at that shiner.”

I turn to look at the source of the familiar voice. It was Dervahl, fresh from the workshop, hands coated in freshly smeared machine oil.

”It’s not that bad.” I say pensively.

He takes a seat next to me on the stone stair and sets a finger under my chin to tilt my face toward him. He turns it until he’s satisfied that he’s looked it over well.

”Alright girl, take a little of this. It’ll help with the sting.” He says, handing me a pouch untied from his belt. I mumble a thanks and dab a small bit of the cream onto my red tinged cheek.

”So what are you thinking about today?” Dervahl asks as he gets comfortable.

I shrug, struggling to look at him. “Who says I’m thinkin’ about anything?”

Dervahl lets out a hearty laugh and brushes some of my chin length black curly hair out of my face to ensure I had coated my cheek well with ointment.

”You only sit here this long when something is on your mind. Otherwise you’d be in the forge, and don’t you try to convince me otherwise, girl.”

I breathe in the soot coated air and exhale slowly. “I really love Hammer Hill.” I say quietly as I look out over the large stone boarder wall and the cottages of stone and steel. “I love being an Oseram.”

“Uh huh.” Dervahl waits for me to finish, sensing the but in my tone.

“But I don’t think my tribe wants me.” I finish, avoiding the craftsman’s gaze again. He’s fiercely proud of his tribe. He’s always supported me, but I’m not sure how he’ll take the confession.

“They do.” He says instead, surprising me with his answer. He bumps my shoulder with his. “They just don’t know it.”

I pull my knees in towards my chest and sigh deeply. “I want to be a good Oseram. I want to support my tribe. I want to support Hammer Hill.”

”Then don’t give up.” Dervhal encourages me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re the best damn apprentice I’ve ever had, Agda.” He gets up and offers me a hand. “I’m not about to let you get shipped off somewhere with the Carja at our door. I’ve got a wife and a kid to protect. I’m gonna need a fighter like you. Don’t think I won’t take it up with the Ealdorman. I’ve always got a plan or three.”

I take his hand up, a smile creeping onto my face. “You don’t have to get into a fight with my father over me, Dervahl.” I assure him.

He gives me a wink as he starts to lead me away from the mill. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, girl.” He teases me. “I’d use any excuse to argue with the big guy. The trick is to wait until he’s got enough Scrappersap in him.”

I laugh. “Dervahl!” I scold.

Dervahl chuckles as he steers me toward his workshop. “There’s that smile! Now! I’ve got a big pile of freshly excavated DEWs sitting on my table. How about we fortify the town?”

“But Dervahl! My father-“

”Needs to know as much as I need a bur in my boot.” He assures me. “You let _me_ deal with him tonight and you can stay over with me and the girls for an evening.”

And so I did. I dug into the relics I found until late, and Dervahl argued with his Ealdorman even later - Oseram style, over drinks with raised voices.

I’d pay for it later, but for tonight I sleep soundly, with oil under my nails and dreams of the Jewel in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this first chapter went over well! It’s my first on here and I admittedly wrote a lot of it on my phone while at work, so let me know if anything is wonky! I welcome feedback!
> 
> See you next week with another chapter!


	2. The Tinker and the Brewer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early with posting this chapter! I had fun writing it and wanted to go ahead and get it out. I hope you’ll enjoy this next segment in the story. Things will be spicing up from here, so I hope you’ll keep reading!

The snow glare was near blinding as I train my eye on the Scrapper before me. As a scavenger, he was tearing apart the remains of what appeared to be a downed Watcher, based on the lens shape. It was the only discernible piece left under the mandible-esque protrusions of churning blade, cutting jagged lines through it’s carapace and grinding up the components within, sparks flying. It was likely downed by a lesser trained hunter, as no good Oseram would neglect to properly clean his kill. Every piece of a machine can have a use, in construction, wiring of inventions, or even armor plating or weapons smithing. Never should a scrap go to waste. The Claim isn’t exactly the easiest place to live in, and every resource counts.

I try to remain very still as I crouch in the nearby reeds, evening my breathing to keep the metal links of my mail from clanking together. Stealth and subtlety weren’t exactly the typical Oseram style, but I needed it to get close enough to my kill to properly experiment with the new weapon in my hand. I can feel it hum with power against my palm, fingers itching to pull the trigger.

Of the weapons I found, DEWs as Dervahl had identified them, we managed to get three working with new power cells and a rigged sparker attachment for extra kick. The rest were a lost cause, but could be stripped for replacement parts. Each shot cost a lot, considering that sparkers were pricey what with trade down from the raids, and strong enough power cells were the find of only a very lucky delver, but they were powerful in a pinch. Or at least they should be. The Scrapper would let me know. If it could rip through his shell, it would rip through a Carja like a Behemoth in the Sun Ring. In their open chested armor and ceremonial silks, not even their sun could save them if they charged the walls of Hammer Hill.

Or so I hope.

I raise the DEW up to a firing position, one hand bracing the barrel and the other grasping the back with the butt of the weapon pressed against my shoulder for stability and my index and middle fingers curled around the trigger. It was a bigger piece of equipment, measuring at a little over three feet long. I press in the trigger halfway and see an interesting feature it has that Dervahl had described to me before in the workshop. A small red dot appears on the power cell located between the Scrapper’s haunches. For targeting, Dervahl had said. Now this was fascinating.

The Scrapper, sensing nothing, continues to tear away at the derelict Watcher. I feel a grin spread across my face. Perfect positioning. I hold steady and press the trigger in the rest of the way.

I see a flash of blue from the barrel as the butt of my weapon slams into my shoulder and I’m thrown onto my back facing the overcast sky. Before I can orient myself I hear the bang of an explosion and keep low against the resounding energy wave. Propping myself up on an arm, I shake the stars from my eyes just in time to see the Scrapper collapsing to the ground in a heap of sparks next to the Watcher it had been consuming. So the DEW has a bit of a kick to it then. I give my sore shoulder a quick rub. I’d have to remember the recoil next time. Regardless, with a bit of practice and trial and error on stance, it seems that the repaired DEWS worked well. Energy beams, just like some machines fire. The Old Ones were creative, I’d give them that.

I heft the DEW up onto a resting position on my shoulder as I rise to my feet and move over to inspect my kill. It had been a clean shot through the power cell with minor damages to the rest of the machine due to the following electrical explosion, but overall my Scrapper was still mostly intact. It would be a good harvest.

I hear a crack in the ice coated ground behind me and whip around quickly, leveling my DEW at the source of the sound. Standing before me in bewilderment at the red targeting dot on his forehead was Garund Aleson. Roughly my age at sixteen years old, he was the son of Hammer Hill’s best brewer. Needless to say their family was quite integral to our little society. No matter the clan, a good mug of Scrappersap was at the center of all Oseram culture.

I watch him as he tries to brush away the targeting dot, resulting only in the eschewing of his brown curls. He quickly realizes his mistake with a flash of embarrassment. I lower my weapon and attach it to the leather strap over my back.

“Whatcha need, Aleson?”

Garund shuffles on his feet a little, eyeing the DEW on my back warily.

“Parts. Metal vessels specifically. Ours our busted. Need ‘em for the fermenting.”

I cock my head as Garund looks around our surroundings warily. His armor looked big on him and he seemed to be struggling with the weight of the hammer on his back.

“Mr. Aleson sent you again?” I ask as politely as I can. Garund wasn’t exactly the fighting type. He doesn’t appear to take any offense to my confusion.

“Dad wants me to learn some proper machine huntin’. Tough love he says.” Garund explains as he kicks a rock absently to avoid my gaze. “The raids are getting closer. Says I might need to take up combat instead of brewing. Be a town guard or somthin’ of the like instead.”

I nod a little. “Hang on.” I tell him. I kneel down by my Scrapper and take a knife to it, cutting out and coiling useable wires and collecting a nice machine heart as a bonus to slip into my bag. The lens was shattered to bits from the fall and completely unusable but I’m able to extract two of the vessels Garund needs.

“Here.” I say, handing them over. I knew him a little and he didn’t seem like combat material. I can see Garund’s eyes light up with gratitude as he ties them off on his belt.

“You supposed to be out here, Agda?” He asks incredulously. “Thought the Ealdorman didn’t like it when you went out machine fighting?”

“Yeah, well he doesn’t like a lot of things.” I respond, crossing my arms with indigence. I’m prepared for an argument but I don’t receive one. Garund merely shrugs.

“Yeah, alright.” He agrees.

I nod once, satisfied, and turn back to my kill to continue sorting through the bits. It’s only once I notice him looking over my shoulder that I stop, tensing up a little.

“Uh, Aleson?”

“Yeah?”

I wasn’t used to having someone watch me work. I was usually alone for that, primarily since it’s rare that anyone knows I’m out at all. Sure, Dervahl would assist at times. He’s my mentor, albeit a secret one. But that was a little different than this. I can’t concentrate.

“What else you need?” I prompt him.

Garund stands up straighter, not seeming to notice the problem. “Oh, nothing really.”

I blink. Why can I never get a break? I sigh.

“How about you head back then? It’s dangerous out here.”

Garund shakes his head a little, making his curls bounce from where they poke out from under his helmet.

“Well, dad knows I’m not too good in the wilds. I figure if I come back this fast, he’ll know somethin’s up.” He bites his lip. “Or...I dunno, raise his expectations for me or something.” He says with a shudder like that was truly the worst case scenario .

I groan and get back to my feet.

“I don’t need to be babysat, Aleson!” I bristle. “Did someone send you out here for me?”

“Naw.” Garund flinches and steps back. “Just the vessels.”

I force my hands to unclench. I suppose out of everyone in town, it would be pretty stupid to send Garund Aleson if they wanted to bring me home. I settle down.

“Alright, well how am I supposed to help ya Garund?” I try instead of getting angry at the less confident Oseram.

“Well, I dunno.” Garund shrugs. “I thought I’d just watch what you’re up to. You always seem to know what you’re doing. You seem kind of angry today though...” He grumbles.

I take a deep breath in and sigh. Maybe I _had_ beena little rash. “Alright, alright. Lets just...”

I freeze up. I could hear something. Metal on ice. Quiet, but enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I crane my neck to the horizon to get a visual.

“Just what? Lets just what, Agda-mmp!”

I’m quick to clamp a hand over Garund’s mouth and drag him by an arm into the reeds with me.

“Shh!” I scold him. I wait until I’m certain that he’ll comply before I remove my hand.

Coming up into view from over the hill were a few Watchers. Sentries for what was to come. Following them close behind was a pack of five Shell-Walkers, slow and laden with cargo. I can hear Garund whimper next to me so I nudge him with my elbow to remind him to be silent.

“What are they doing here?” Garund whispers as he grabs onto my arm for whatever comfort that apparently gave him.

“Fire and spit, I don’t know.” I say with a hushed voice in response. “The convoy isn’t supposed to pass this way for two more weeks. They make the same run between Cauldrons through here at the same time every four months or so. They’re early.”

Garund sinks lower into the reeds beside me. “I bet it’s got somethin’ to do with the Carja! You know, stirring things up! Or maybe the Derangement!”

“Shh!” I instruct him again. “Why doesn’t matter right now. _Focus_ , Aleson. We’re in trouble.”

“Your father is gonna be right pissed if you get tangled up with this, Agda!” Garund warns in a hissed whisper. “What are you gonna do?”

I swallow hard. He was right. But that was a problem for later.

“Try to keep us alive.” I respond. “You’re a rookie, and there’s too many here for me alone. We need an escape plan.”

Garund nods enthusiastically at the idea of escape. “Yeah, alright. That suits. Uh...where to? Won’t those Watchers catch sight of us?”

“I’m thinkin’! I’m thinkin’!” I respond, clenching my teeth and wracking my brain. It was only a matter of time before the Watchers sniffed out our reed outcropping and alerted the whole convoy. I had my DEW on my back, but it was slow firing and still experimental. I wasn’t sure I’d trust it just yet to take all of those machines on at once.

I poke my head up as high as I dare to try to formulate some kind of half-baked strategy. The land was mostly flat here. Not a lot of good cover. There were a few rocks a ways behind us and...could it be? I lower my head again.

“There’s somewhere we can hide. We’d have to slip through those reeds - there.” I gesture to the area behind us.

“If we make it that far, there’s a place to hide.”

Garund nods enthusiastically. “Ok! What do I need to do?”

I blink. Implicit trust. That was a new one.

“Follow me. Quietly. And keep low.”

I grab Garund’s hand and start to lead him through the reed cover. Eventually we would inevitably run out. Then we’d have to be quick and quiet, out in the open.

Garund for his credit kept perfectly hushed, but the grip he had on my hand betrayed his fear. He wanted to be a brewer, not a fighter. He had no business being out here. I swallow back the anger from yet another grievance against my tribe. It seems we force everyone into things they don’t want for themselves.

I push my mental state back into as relative of a calm as I can manage. They’ll be time to stew on that one later, when my life and that of my clanmate weren’t in danger. Preferably over drinks, with Dervahl, and enough machine scrap on the shop tables to tinker with all night long.

Garund freezes to a stop as we reach the edge of our reed cover, eyes wide like a rabbit looking up the point of a hunter’s spear. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Low and quiet. Just to the edge of the rock formation.” I remind him gently. I spare a quick glance over his shoulder. The Watchers were gaining on us with their scanning. I don’t tell him that. We need to move.

Garund nods hesitantly and I don’t wait for him to get any more sure before I continue pulling him along.

_Thirty feet away_. I can hear the Watchers communicating behind me. I keep moving.

_Twenty-five_. A yellow light glowing on the snow. Garund hasn’t noticed, fortunately. I drag him along further.

_Twenty_. I can hear the Watcher’s footsteps getting closer. I pick up the pace, risking the noise from our metal armor.

_Fifteen_. Red light. The Watcher raises it’s head to the sky and calls out. The Shell-Walkers turn to attention. I stand up straight.

“ _Run_!”

Hand in hand and kicking up snow behind us, we dash now towards the rock formation. The Watchers are fast on our tails and the Shell-Walkers not far behind, raising their shields. From my peripheral I see one fire a blast of blue energy our way and hear Garund’s scream. I have to let go of his hand to roll and dodge the shot, quickly whipping my head around to catch sight of my companion again. A Watcher has gotten between us and he staggers backwards.

“Agda!” He calls in a panic. He grabs his hammer off of his back and holds it before him, fumbling with it awkwardly.

The Watcher was about to pounce. I could tell by it’s positioning. Garund wasn’t braced properly due to a lack of training and the weight of his hammer was pulling him off balance. The Watcher slams into him before I can do a thing and sends him flying down onto his back, before looming over him.

“Agh, damn it all!” I close the gap as it’s about to fire down on him and throw myself on top of it.

Garund had his eyes closed, clearly thinking the end was upon him, but he peeks them open slowly as he doesn’t feel the expected blow. I wrap my arms around his adversary’s neck, forcing it’s head to the sky and press my heels into the ground to brace myself against it’s bucking. It beeps and screeches from under me and my arms strain to hold it still. I untangle my dagger from my belt and quickly slash at it’s neck with precision, targeting the specific wires and cords that power it’s functions. Sparks flying from the machine’s neck, it begins to go limp. I make one final stab through a slit in the metal covering it’s abdomen and it collapses into the snow as it gives out from under me.

I quickly extract myself from it and fumble to my feet. Garund, who appeared to be hyperventilating, was fumbling to get any traction under his feet in the snow bank to rise. The other machines were closing in.

“We’re gonna die!” Garund screams.

“We’re not going to die!” I yell back adamantly to jar him back into the present. “We’re going to survive! I promise, steel to my soul!”

I grab him by his arms and pull him up to his feet, grabbing his hand again. “Come on!” I order him as I make another push for the rock formation. He runs along with me, revived to an extent. We were close now.

_Ten feet_. Closing in.

_Five feet_. The Shell-Walkers were circling around us to trap us.

“Agda!” Garund warns as he sees their formation.

“It’s ok!” I assure him. We were here. The base of the rock outcropping, and the pit leading into the ruin at it’s base.

Understanding my meaning, Garund’s eyes widen with alertness and he starts unfurling the rope from his belt to rappel down.

I study the Shell-Walkers, boxing us in around the opening in the ground with shields extended. I back up to the ruin until my heels are at the edge of the ledge. Maybe it wasn’t too far down. I’m not sure we have a choice. They were going to fire.

“You trust me?!” I ask.

“What?!” Garund responds as he fumbles his rope haphazardly from panic.

“Do you trust me, Aleson?!”

“Uh, sure!”

“We’re jumping!”

“What?!”

There was no more time for discussion. I grab Garund and pull him in front of me, wrapping my arms around his waist and throwing both of us backwards into the pit as I watch the space above us where we had previously been turn electric blue from the lethal blast of the convoy machines.

I’m pretty sure we both screamed the whole way. The fall lasted longer than I had hoped it would, or maybe that was just the adrenalin working on my perception of time. I don’t even remember blacking out as I collide with the cave floor, Garund on top of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a fun combat sequence to write! Let me know how it reads in the comments! I love hearing feedback.
> 
> Any guesses on where our duo has ended up?
> 
> New chapter coming next week!


End file.
